Mar. 21st, 2013

monk111: (Mori: by tiger_ace)
“There is not much to be got anywhere in the world. It is filled with misery and pain; and if a man escapes these, boredom lies in wait for him at every corner. Nay more; it is evil which generally has the upper hand, and folly makes the most noise. Fate is cruel, and mankind is pitiable. In such a world as this, a man who is rich in himself is like a bright, warm, happy room at Christmastide, while without are the frost and snow of a December night. Therefore, without doubt, the happiest destiny on earth is to have the rare gift of a rich individuality, and, more especially, to be possessed of a good endowment of intellect; this is the happiest destiny, though it may not be, after all, a very brilliant one.”

-- Arthur Schopenhauer

This is his theme, but I think the science is in: you are really better off if you have some friends, some lovers. No man is an island, no matter how brilliant he is. We can only thrive in society. On the other hand, if you have to be alone, if friends and lovers are practically out of the question, I imagine that it is a great advantage to be able to lose yourself a little in books - that much I will grant.

Marilyn

Mar. 21st, 2013 03:50 pm
monk111: (Strip)
Langdon Marvin was a very loyal Kennedy aide, some might say a flunky. According to Mr. Porter’s narrative, Marilyn’s supposed murder wrought a change in personality in Bobby

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

“After Marilyn was killed, Bobby became very indiscreet. At times, he seemed almost as sexually insatiable as Jack. Like I did for Jack,, I provided a gaggle of women for him - starlets, airline stewardesses, secretaries. At that point in his life, he preferred nymphettes - underdeveloped young girls. He occasionally entertained them in the presidential suite at the Hotel Carlyle in New York. One time, I sent up three beautiful fifteen-year-old high school girls. He told me, ‘That’s the best present anybody ever gave me. After I fucked them, I watched them have sex with each other.’”

-- Langdon Marvin per Darwin Porter’s “Marilyn at Rainbow’s End”

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

But what’s the suggestion? That Bobby came to feel above the law, unmoored from any compelling sense of morality? That’s sort of a basic Kennedy trait anyway, isn’t it? It’s a good thing that they were men of the people.

Pics )
monk111: (Effulgent Days)
So, there may not be as much geriatric sex going on as I first thought. At about eleven last night, as I was trying to sleep, I could hear her groans and moans again. I was ready to transfer to the big room, but I could tell that the TV was playing. I thought this was too cute by half, that Pop should be laying claim to the room when he is obviously busy elsewhere. I was set to take over, but then I saw that Pop is indeed watching television.

It’s her leg, or her half-leg, as the case may be. (Diabetes?) That makes the noise a little less disturbing to me, but I still cannot sleep with it. Pop soon went to bed, and then I moved my bedding to the big room, but this is not a routine that I like.

* * * *

Oh my god! I think I know why the neighbor dog was whimpering. They have short-leashed him. He cannot even walk beyond a few feet’s circumference.

It’s odd. It seemed like they were doing better by their dog for a while. But this is the cruellest yet. Surely a bullet to the head were kinder and would show more love. God, why am I forced to witness this?

* * * *

I am having a very tough time today repressing my heavy sense of loserdomness. It was the afternoon nap. Usually, I can shake off the mood, but this time it won’t go away. I am trying to lose myself in my “Hamlet” blogging and with Christopher Hitchens’s essays, but I am not succeeding very well. Usually, I would just wank one out and that would do the trick. However, as lusty and raunchy as I feel, I cannot really work myself up to it. Maybe I need Viagra just to masturbate. Without this release, and while I am in this charged up and self-loathing mood, I just feel... even violent in my frustration, yes, complete with simmering notions of suicide.

I see no recourse but to ride it out.

* * * *

Coughing. She is always coughing. Ms. Walker. I think about how very healthy I have been over the last ten years or so, and how she is probably a good entry for viruses and illness to come freely into the household. Though, in truth, you would think that Pop would be bad enough, hanging out with the grandkids.

* * * *

Pop brought some Red Velvet Cake ice cream. It is reassuring that he seems to think of me and does a little something, apparently, to negate some of the burden of his social life that falls on my shoulders.

* * * *

Reading another LJ-discussion on ‘rape culture’, I learn that David Deacon is in jail for molesting a child. He did always maintain a strong, even vitriolic misogynist streak, but this is still a surprise because he seemed to favor especially well-endowed, mature women, judging by the pictures he posted. I wish I could know what is the story here.

* * * *

At ten o’clock I am pretty much done with my day’s blogging, and I decide to step out back and walk a little in the cool spring air and unclog my mind and emotions. I see Coco perched on mom’s plum tree. So adorable! One of those things that make this life worthwhile. I can feel love. I really should break from my laziness and start watering the trees. We are very, very dry and I have been wholly negligent and coldly indifferent. I have not been able to rise above the minimum necessities of my days when it comes to doing the chores.
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